


Starting Gauge

by Nyanoka



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, ポケモンマスターズ | Pokemon Masters
Genre: Age Difference, Begging, Canon ages, Consensual Sex, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, First Time, Foreskin Play, Kissing, M/M, Mild Painplay, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor blowjob, Multiple Orgasms, Size Difference, Trans Male Character, Underage Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Fisting, cum facial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26634076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyanoka/pseuds/Nyanoka
Summary: Scottie asks Grimsley to do something more with him this time.
Relationships: Giima | Grimsley/Kei | Scottie
Kudos: 11





	Starting Gauge

**Author's Note:**

> I look at Pasio and all I can think of is that this island is the equivalent of the Olympic Village.
> 
> I also decided on Grimsley/Scottie because why not? Grimsley has shown up enough times for me off-focus to make a 5/5 of him on my Masters account, and mine's fully finished with Unbending and a filled Sync Grid, so it works. His quotes are cute too...Scottie's also less popular than Bettie by a large margin, so he's also my choice of favorites between them. And I like Grimsley/Scottie anyway...and I need more breather fics to do before I tackle my next longfic...
> 
> But still, this is also my 40th published fic for this account which is nice...can I get to 50 before the year rolls over...
> 
> As a side note, I do know they don't have "canon" ages but that's also such a succinct warning for everything...

“Uncle Grimsley, can we _please_ do something more than kissing?”

Scottie doesn’t mean to whine—even he could hear himself, “please” particularly high-pitched and obnoxious even to his own ears—but he couldn’t help himself. How could he not? He had expected something a bit _more_ when Grimsley had invited him back to his hotel room and after eight months of almost entirely chaste dating, he thinks a bit of impatience, entitlement, is warranted.

They haven’t even kissed in the truest sense of word, kisses always closemouthed and more akin to a brush of wind than anything truly sensual. Rather than anything truly sensual, anything entirely intimate, they’re merely sitting across from each other—he sitting cross-legged on the bed and Grimsley in the chair across from him.

It isn’t for a lack of desire or for a lack of interest. He isn’t blind or naïve enough to believe that not with how Grimsley looks at him, always in the moments he turns to gaze elsewhere, and in how he touches him—affection apparent in the way his hand lingers on his, fingers gently intertwining, and in the even, slow heartbeat he hears when they cuddle, back pressed again warm chest with blankets loosely draped and television lowly droning in the background.

“Seven more years,” comes Grimsley’s reply as he leans forward in his chair, wood creaking slightly. “That’s when you turn eighteen, right? Don’t want you to make a decision you’ll regret.”

“Six,” Scottie corrects. “I turn twelve next week.”

Grimsley hums before replying, “Still seven then more or less. It’s not your birthday yet.” He shifts in his chair again, crossing left leg over right and more habit than anything else. Outside of his card games and bets, Grimsley is a rather antsy person, always in motion in one way or another and never quite still. That is what Scottie notices anyhow. “Though, are you tired of spending time with me already? Too boring?”

No! I like spending time with you.” Scottie shakes his head, frowning. “It’s just…I want to do something more with you. Something more adult.”

Another hum, noncommittal, but Scottie notes the slight flicker of his eyes as they briefly glance elsewhere. It isn’t quite nervousness—Grimsley, despite his propensity for movement, isn’t a naturally anxious person—but it isn’t quite certainty, calmness, either.

Scottie continues, fumbling, “I mean…I’m fine with you touching me. I _want_ you to touch me.” Grimsley’s eyes flicker elsewhere again at his words, but Scottie pays it no real mind, not enough to stop anyhow. “I don’t mind, really. I just…” He pauses, trailing off for a few seconds before continuing, “I just want you to treat me more like an adult, more like an equal. I’m not fragile.”

A silence descends then, awkward and only interrupted by the occasional squeaking of bed springs, a consequence of Scottie’s nervous shifting. Though, he couldn’t quite help himself with the way Grimsley looks at him, gaze scrutinizing and inscrutable.

“You shouldn’t rush into being an adult,” Grimsley says finally. “It’s not that fun. A lot of taxes and bills, you know?”

“Yeah, but”—a hint of annoyance seeps into his voice, unintended—“that’s not what I mean, and you know it.” He doesn’t mean to be rude, but he couldn’t help it, not with how intentionally obtuse Grimsley is. At this point, he knows Grimsley well enough to differentiate between genuine ignorance and an intentional obtuseness. “If you don’t want to, just say it. I won’t bother you about it then.”

Much like with his original request, his words are whiny, a bit bratty even, but he thinks he’s rather justified in them. He isn’t fond of indecisiveness—hell, that’s part of the reason why he had been so drawn to Grimsley in the first place, to his confidence and to his decisiveness—and he isn’t fond of ambiguity.

Scottie shifts again, bed springs creaking once more, as he repeats himself, “Do you want to touch me? Fuck me I mean? Just be honest about it, and I won’t bother you about it anymore.”

Grimsley could lie certainly—by virtue of his occupation and his gambling tendencies, he is prone to that—but Scottie doesn’t expect him to. It isn’t quite his style, not with important matters such as this. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, feign ignorance.

Another silence, similarly awkward as the last, and Scottie shifts again, still nervous if a bit frustrated, before Grimsley replies, voice level even as his eyes flicker elsewhere, soon returning to meet Scottie’s.

“I do,” he admits, “but I don’t want you to make a mistake. You’re a bit”—he makes a motion with his hand—“young. Don’t you want to wait a few years first? Maybe for someone special?”

Scottie doesn’t particularly understand his logic. Aren’t they already dating? How would sex be any different? What boundary would be crossed by that that already hasn’t been? With consideration to everything else, it is a rather arbitrary standard in his opinion.

Scottie shakes his head. “No, I don’t want to wait.” Another pause as he considers his words. “And you’re special to me. I wouldn’t mind if it was with you.”

It’s an overly sentimental, simple statement, sentimentality drawing a light flush to his cheeks, but he doesn’t know how else to explain himself. He truly does think Grimsley is special—confident, intelligent, and almost every virtue he could think of. Perhaps it’s a trick of first infatuation, but Scottie doesn’t particularly mind.

He knows how he feels after all.

“I won’t change my mind,” Scottie says. “Really, if you want to. You can fuck me. I won’t mind. Just…please, treat me more like an adult.”

Another pause, awkwardly long, and Scottie almost expects Grimsley to protest again—he is rather stubborn at times—but he doesn’t. Instead, he only leaves his chair, motion slow if smooth with chair creaking, before Scottie feels a hand on his cheek, bed squeaking as another weight presses down on the mattress, and a warm breath on his lips, mint wafting faintly with each breath.

“Alright, just tell me if it becomes too much or if you want to stop, okay?” Scottie shivers at his words, quiet and low and warm against his mouth. “I don’t want it to be a bad experience for you.” Calloused fingers caress his cheek, fingertips pressing softly against soft skin. “Is there anything in particular you want to do first?”

Oh. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead, and perhaps it shows on his face, but Grimsley speaks again, voice still soft and even.

“How about a kiss then? That’s easy enough.”

Scottie almost grimaces again at that, but he nods. He doesn’t really want another kiss, closemouthed and chaste, but he couldn’t decline, as lacking in ideas as he is.

Grimsley’s fingers once again caress at cheek before Scottie feels his lips press against his, kiss familiar and equally warm as Grimsley’s breath but not quite what he desires. It isn’t new, exciting and mature, even as he feels his cheeks flush once more at the contact.

Thus, he couldn’t quite help his surprise when he feels teeth nip at his lips, bite just forceful enough to draw a yelp and noise soon muffled further by a tongue pushing itself into his mouth, saliva wet and warm and mixing.

It isn’t like their previous kisses—too rough and too excited, more teeth and tongue than softness but no less affectionate—but Scottie doesn’t mind, legs uncrossing and hands only moving to grab at the front of Grimsley’s jacket, suit wrinkling further underneath his hands as he pulls him closer, chests nearly meeting, and tongue moving to sloppily meet his.

He isn’t particularly good at kissing, too inexperienced and more reliant on instinct and inference than experience, but he tries, voice gasping and teeth nearly biting downward in surprise when he feels a hand slip underneath his shirt, palm cool against hot flesh, and fingers trail from his cheek to the nape of his neck, fingertips stroking gently.

Another noise, particularly loud, leaves him when he feels the hand underneath shirt slide upward and pinch at a nipple, dark nub twisted lightly in-between trimmed nails, and a tongue push further into his mouth and toward the throat, motion rough but not unpleasant. Hell, he couldn’t describe it, the attention, as anything _but_ pleasant—warmth pooling in his stomach and pre-cum already soaking into his panties.

His eyes are watering when they separate from the kiss—saliva dripping, mouth tasting faintly of mint, and breath ragged—and when the hand on his chest stills, palm pressing against sweaty skin.

“Was that fine?” He hears, voice still even much to his disappointment. Unlike himself, Grimsley doesn’t seem even a bit winded, another consequence of their difference in experience and stamina. “Too much too early? Too rough?”

“It’s fine, more than fine even,” Scottie replies, grip tightening slightly. He doesn’t want to let go, too worried about Grimsley changing his mind. “Can we keep going?”

A murmur comes alongside a nod. “Good, good.” With the way Grimsley leans forward, lips nearly touching again, Scottie almost expects another kiss, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he feels the hand on his neck leave and come to rest on the waistband of his capris, fingers idly playing with the metal buttons but not quite undoing them. “Is it fine if I touch you here then?”

At his words, Scottie shudders before nodding, buttons soon popping loose and zipper quickly pulled downward to reveal the white of his panties, cotton thoroughly soaked.

It’s teasing, obnoxiously so, when Grimsley’s fingers move to rub at his slit through the wet fabric, movement languid, upward and downward, and digits occasionally pressing inward to play with his clit.

Scottie almost wants to push back against his fingers, but a tongue prods at the corner of his lips, immediately sliding downward to the right side of his neck before lifting, warm breath tickling and teeth gently grazing.

“Can you tilt your head a bit to the side?” Another noise leaves him as he feels a finger dip into his pussy, digit twisting lightly as fabric brushes against his insides with the motion, panties wetting further, and another tug on his nipple, nub rolled in-between thumb and forefinger.

Panting, Scottie complies, tilting his head to his left. “Keep going, please.”

Perhaps it’s impatient—he hadn’t even waited for Grimsley to begin his question, breath brushing against his neck in the telltale beginning of another word—but he doesn’t want to wait more than he needs to. Undoubtedly, he appreciates Grimsley’s concern, but as he is now, agitated and aroused, he _couldn’t_ wait.

He hears another hum, noise vibrating lightly against his neck, before a warm tongue once again licks at his neck, teeth soon clamping down afterwards and drawing another loud squeak, pain and surprise intermingled.

He almost bucks against Grimsley’s fingers then in an attempt to force more contact until he feels another tug on his nipple, gentler than the last one and more of a request to stop than anything else.

Teasing and obnoxious, especially with the hand roaming underneath his shirt and the light pressure on his neck, teeth nipping and mouth sucking gently, but thankfully, he soon feels a hand slide up, fingertips brushing idly against his inner thighs, and slip into the waistband of his panties, fingers coming to play with a swollen clit and wet folds and occasionally moving to press inward to stroke his walls.

Scottie couldn’t quite help the noises that leave his mouth—it’s good, really good, even if he doesn’t have much to compare it with—or his own motions, always rutting downward in an attempt to force Grimsley’s fingers to hurry or to press in deeper.

When Grimsley’s fingers, forefinger and middle inside up to the knuckles, curl, a high whine leaves him, body trembling and pussy leaking, squirting onto his fingers and fluid dirtying both his panties and the inside of his capris.

“Doing okay so far?” Grimsley asks as he lifts his mouth, tongue idly lapping at the purpling bruising upon departure. “Want to stop?”

“N-no.” Scottie doesn’t mean to stumble, but he couldn’t quite help himself not with Grimsley’s fingers still inside him, curled and agitating with each little movement. “M-more, please. Keep going.”

It isn’t particularly articulate, more repetitive than anything else, but he feels Grimsley press a kiss to his neck, lips brushing against the bruising, before the hand on his chest lightly pushes him forward and downward, urging him onto his back and motion met with eagerness and hands loosening, falling from his suit and coming to grip at the dirtied sheets.

Nails scrape at chest and stomach, fingers sliding downward upon soft flesh, before Grimsley’s fingers hook into his shirt, fabric quickly pulled upward to expose fair skin and reddened nipples and drawing another shiver, a paradoxical consequence of both warmth and chill.

A kiss comes upon his neck, light and reverent as the last, before he feels Grimsley move downward, trailing kisses upon the skin and briefly stopping upon the jutting collarbone to lap at sweaty skin and to nip, bite softly singeing and more akin to a brush of autumn wind than a bee’s sting.

Placing another kiss upon the collarbone, Grimsley soon moves downward, mouth coming to hover over the left nipple.

“Relax.” Another tremble overcomes him as he feels Grimsley’s fingers uncurl inside him and another finger, the ring, push against his dripping opening. “Tell me if you me to stop, alright?”

Scottie nods. He doesn’t trust himself to speak as he is, chest heaving and body still trembling despite his best efforts.

“Really, relax. It’ll be easier if you do.” Grimsley’s tongue prods at the nipple, wetting it with spit. “I won’t hurt you.”

Scottie feels Grimsley’s finger once again stroke at his slit before it slowly pushes inward, action eliciting a gasp.

When Grimsley finishes, fingers now all buried up to the knuckles, Scottie’s squirming, not quite comfortable and not quite uncomfortable but entirely noisy, panting and bucking against the fingers inside him. Even with the slight tinge of pain, the slight sensation of fullness, he feels, he doesn’t want Grimsley to stop.

“I’m f-fine,” Scottie says, eyes watering. He knows what Grimsley will ask, question considerate if still predictably repetitive. “Really, I’m fine. K-keep going.”

By the way Grimsley’s brow furrows, he isn’t particularly convinced, but thankfully, he complies—fingers spreading inside and moving, occasionally curling to rub at Scottie’s G-spot, and tongue lapping at his nipple, bud occasionally squeezed and rolled gently in-between teeth.

With each motion, fingers pushing inward and withdrawing, sometimes curling and sometimes simply spreading, and with each buck, Scottie finds himself growing warmer, sweat pooling on his brow and pain dissipating purely into pleasure, voice noisily whining for Grimsley to continue and to quicken his pace.

Even when he cums, pussy clenching around Grimsley’s fingers and fluid squirting once more onto his hand and onto his own clothes, Scottie doesn’t stop moving, body still writhing in an attempt to garner more pleasure.

Perhaps it’s greedy but Scottie finds himself speaking, begging rather, when he feels Grimsley lift his mouth, nipple released with a soft pop, and his fingers begin to withdraw.

“C-can you keep going? Add more fingers?” A slight flush comes to his cheeks at that, a consequence of both embarrassment and heat. Though, he doesn’t quite understand the reason for Grimsley’s frown or for his response, a simple “It’ll hurt.”

Certainly, he understands that, the bit of pain, but he thinks he can bear it well enough. He’s done well enough so far he thinks, and two more probably wouldn't hurt all too much. Grimsley’s hands are slender, fingers well-formed and tapered. He doesn’t really understand Grimsley’s worry. He only mutters another “please,” face still flushed and words distinctly whining despite the lowness of them.

He almost pleads again when Grimsley’s fingers withdraw entirely and when he hears the creak of the bed, weight shifting away from him, and the slide of a drawer until he feels his pants and undergarments pulled downward, fabric pooling around his ankles, and sees the bottle of lube in his hand, item having been retrieved from the drawer.

“Are you sure about this?” Grimsley asks, brow still furrowed. “It’s not as simple as you think.”

Scottie nods. He still doesn’t quite understand his concern or the generous amount of lube he, after rolling up his sleeve, pours onto his hand, coating fingers, palm, and everything up to the wrist. In his opinion, it’s a bit of a waste, overly excessive.

At the very least, it doesn’t hurt when he feels the tip of the first finger push in with a pop, noise squelching, and soon carefully followed by the second, third, and fourth—all noisily engulfed and inserted to just pass the nails.

When Grimsley speaks again, fingers moving slightly, it is another murmur, words slurring slightly and breath hastened and characteristics drawing another curl of warmth, delight, to Scottie’s stomach.

“Relax,” he says, words repeating once more, “and spread your legs a bit more. It’ll hurt less if you do.”

Scottie still doesn’t quite understand his reasoning—certainly, he feels a bit full, thighs sticky and wet and only adding to the slight discomfort he feels—but he complies, nodding along when Grimsley’s next question comes, still considerate and fretting if succinct, a simple “Ready?”

Fingers pressing together with thumb folded inward, Grimsley pushes his hand further in, motion rotating gently back and forth and drawing another shudder, body trembling and whimper audible.

He wants to squirm further, contradictorily both to push Grimsley’s fingers further in and to rid himself of them, but a hand stops him, settling softly on his inner thigh and fingertips comfortingly rubbing small circles into the wet skin.

Too slow yet too quick, painful and full in a way that makes him want to scream, noise only stopped when he bites down on his lip and motions only continued when he once again begs Grimsley to continue—a rush of pleas, stuttering, repetitive calls of “Please” and “Keep going.” He couldn’t say much else, couldn’t think of much else to say with the fullness inside of him.

He doesn’t want him to stop, pain and pleasure mixed and for a fear of being seen as a child once more.

He doesn’t want to be seen as less than an equal.

When Grimsley finally finishes, hand nearly pushed up to wrist and stomach bulging from the intrusion, Scottie is noisy, agitated, panting, and tears running fully.

“Keep going,” he pants, tears still falling. “P-please, just touch me. I just want you to touch me.”

It’s overly whiny again, but he doesn’t mind—doesn’t care rather—and he doesn’t think Grimsley minds either, familiar concern overlaid with a similar agitation to his own. Even with the tears obscuring his vision, he notices the bulge pushing at the front of Grimsley’s pants and the way his body shakes, eager to hasten their pace but too concerned about injury to proceed truly.

Thankfully, however, Grimsley doesn’t pull out his hand, end their session. Instead, he feels a slight shift, a few experimental movements—fingers curling just slightly, hand turning occasionally, and every movement, slight or otherwise, rubbing against his G-spot and drawing a whimper—before Grimsley leans forward and downward, tongue licking at the nearly hairless groin and soon moving to lap at the swollen labia and clit.

Another shudder, and a high whine leaves Scottie’s throat as he feels Grimsley’s hand finally curl into a fist and move, fullness distending his stomach with each slow thrust and pull and fingers clenching and unclenching, teasing at his insides.

Alongside the ministrations on his clit, tongue lapping at sensitive flesh, and the fingers caressing at his thigh, it doesn’t take long for Scottie to cum, pussy clenching and fluid squirting onto and pass Grimsley’s still moving hand and onto the front of his shirt, white staining navy blue.

Even when his orgasm subsides, Grimsley doesn’t stop, even pace continuing, slow and teasing and soon coaxing another orgasm—spurts smaller than the last and splattering upon Grimsley’s chin and mouth.

When Grimsley finally pulls out, motion careful as his entry and preceded by yet another warning, Scottie’s panting, voice not quite working and breath ragged as he pulls himself up to a sitting position.

He’s dirty—clothes needing to be replaced rather than simply washed—but he could say the same for Grimsley as well, cum spotting his suit and only worsened when he wipes his face with his sleeve.

It isn’t the most apt of observations, but it is the one of the few that Scottie could discern in his current state, frazzled as he is. Though much like with their clothes, Grimsley isn’t in a much better state, breath uneven as well and only speaking after a few more minutes of silence.

“Was it alright? Not too much?”

“Y-yeah, it was great,” he replies, flushing once more at the highness of his own voice. Perhaps it’s silly considering their activities a few minutes earlier, but he’s never enjoyed that particular highness, too young-seeming. “But”—he makes a small gesture with his hand toward Grimsley’s erection as his face flushes further—“can I help with that?”

It’s an awkward and childish statement, more fit for chores than for a blowjob, but he doesn’t simply want to leave Grimsley as he is, erection and agitation both readily apparent.

At the very least, Grimsley doesn’t decline, doesn’t stop him, when he moves closer, hand soon fumbling to undo his belt and the buttons of his pants. He only feels a slight tremble underneath his fingers, more anticipation than his own nervousness, as the metal clinks, belt buckle hastily undone alongside the buttons and fabric then pulled downward to reveal an erect, leaking cock.

Though, despite his previous eagerness, he doesn’t quite know what do, too hesitant. Certainly, he has an _inkling_ of what to do, but he doesn’t want to mess up, doesn’t want to be more awkward than he already is.

“It’ll be fine.” A hand combs his hair reassuringly. “Just do your best.”

Scottie nods, still hesitant, before he leans forward, pressing his lips against the tip of Grimsley’s cock, tongue pushing around and underneath the foreskin, as his hands wrap around the shaft, fingers stroking along the length and at the protruding veins. With each movement upward and downward, fingers not quite wrapped entirely around the girth, the foreskin slides, retracting to reveal the pink head and soon pulled back up, motions repeating with each clumsy stroke.

He isn’t quite fond of the taste or texture, pre-cum too slimy and a bit salty, taste accentuated by sweat, or of the size—cock fitting uncomfortably inside his mouth, length sliding against his tongue with each motion.

It isn’t particularly comfortable, cock too big and barely half fitting entirely into his mouth, but he doesn’t mind not with the small sounds his actions draw from Grimsley, half-mumbled words of encouragement and praise mixed with soft moans.

Alongside the hand in his hair, still stroking, and the fingers coming to rest on his groin, digits plunging into his dripping, gaping pussy to rub at his insides and to play with his folds and clit, Scottie finds himself squirming once more, eager and noisy, moans reverberating lightly around Grimsley’s cock and eliciting a groan.

Tongue flicking at the leaking slit, he feels Grimsley’s fingers curl, fingertips rubbing roughly against his G-spot, before he cums once more, orgasm leaking onto the stain sheets and dirtying Grimsley’s hand further.

Despite his orgasm, however, Scottie doesn’t cease his ministrations, hand trailing downward to cup Grimsley’s balls, fingers massaging the warm flesh, and tongue lapping with enthusiastic, if inexperienced, vigor—underneath and around the foreskin and at the head and slit themselves.

He doesn’t want to be the only one to cum today.

Even when he feels a gentle tug on his hair and then a second, he doesn’t stop, tongue still moving against the sensitive flesh and hands still groping, stroking.

It’s only when he feels a warmth fill his mouth, cum dripping downward into his throat, that he withdraws, hurried and clumsy and gagging, white fluid soon splattering onto his face and covering his cheeks, nose, and brow.

He feels the hand in his hair move, fingertips pressing softly into his scalp and stroking. “Learned your lesson, Scottie? You shouldn’t be so stubborn about everything.”

Grimsley isn’t especially angry, tone more amused and teasing, but Scottie finds himself pouting anyway, expression drawing a light laugh from his partner.

Another stroke through his hair before Scottie feels Grimsley’s hand trail downward to his cheek, wiping away a bit of cum. “Now, do you want to go with me to get cleaned up? Or do you want to do it yourself? We can sort everything else out afterward.”

He isn’t quite sure what “afterward” would entail—with the state of their bed, he doesn’t think room service is an option, one without an excess of awkwardness anyhow—but he doesn’t decline Grimsley’s offer, small hand soon grasped in his and bare feet meeting cold, wooden floor, steps moving toward the adjoining bathroom.

Why would he decline anyhow?

Despite his moments of petulance, he likes spending time with Grimsley.

**Author's Note:**

> I do like Grimsley a lot actually. Not as much as Piers, but he's rather swell. I like to think Grimsley's twenty-nine or thirty too really...but still, should have he gone along with everything? Probably not, but we wouldn't have a fic at that point if he were actually morally responsible and ya know, not dating an eleven-year-old, and I think he has a thing for high-risk edgeplay and other risky situations...that gambling addiction...and vaginally fisting someone during their first time is kinda...out there, ya know? Alongside everything else.
> 
> I was really close to putting in a breeding and pregnancy kink to go with the "risk, control, and trust" theme, but then it was like...we already had that in the last few fics...let's pocket that one again...alongside the waxplay and ball gag...maybe one day...but hum...
> 
> I do think Grimsley's rather soft here, but I actually did consider that in relation to Scottie's age. He's a bit hard and full of bluster at times, but I think he has a "soft spot" for more "demanding" and younger partners. It goes into the idea of control I think...and the ending was originally much longer, but I decided I liked the idea of a "snapshot" more than to have a whole aftermath. Some of the themes of the fic are "innocence and adulthood" and "(desire for) normalcy" so it fit more.
> 
> Though...I am getting rather tired of Twitter and Tumblr at times...so irritating how many awful takes and accusations go around over fiction...so many horrid assumptions...hopefully Fanexus works out since early access is supposed to open soon...
> 
> As a side note, what are Pikachu and Liepard doing during this? Accosting the hotel staff and the buffet table.


End file.
